Bodyguard & Babysitter Required, Apply Within
by Little Miss Lover
Summary: Duties may include, but will not be limited to: thwarting murder attempts - feeding mad scientists - battling nazis - taking bullets - ensuing a proper sleep cycle for all members of the team - defusing arguments. Light cooking and cleaning required. Ability to lift 50lbs a must. Accepting transfers from international spying agencies, talk to your commanding officer to apply.


The agent stalled, eyes flickered between the two people across from him. The space between them loomed, an ominous, gaping ravine of suspense and anxiety. Opposite him were a woman and a man, both of them drab in appearance and slightly tired around the face. The woman interrupted his thoughts.

"I assure you, agent, that any misgivings you have about Operative Rider are completely unfounded."

The agent nodded.

"Apologies. It's just… Isn't he a bit young?"

The twin stares he received were both withering and terrifying.

"My mistake. Sorry."

"Shall we continue our debrief, agent? Or rather, begin?"

"Of course."

* * *

"Have that man sent on discretion and sensitivity training."

"I had planned to, Alex."

"Imagine if I had been someone easily offended."

"Thank goodness we both know you are not."

"SCORPIA, though… Highly unusual of them to attach themselves to the supernatural."

"My thoughts exactly."

"I'd imagine they're being hired by this group instead of actually embracing their beliefs."

"Indeed."

"We'll have to look further into this, Tulip."

"Yes. You will."

"Oh. Ominous."

"How do you feel about America?"

* * *

"Alex! Great to see you!"

"Lovely to see you again, Joe."

Hands shaken, formalities exchanged, they move on to the car – black and pretentious, as tends to be the American wont. It's easily big enough to fit a few operatives in with machine guns – which they have – a drab honour guard of metal and olive on black. Alex scrambles in, Joe following, and they sit face to face on parallel benches flanked by their assigned personnel.

"You're looking well, Alex," Joe says easily, and it's true; he does. The retired life suits him – temporarily at least. Pulled from the force by Tulip – or as he knew her then, Mrs Jones – aged 15, he'd spent a miserable term at Brookland before realising the civilian life wasn't for him and coming back to the bank, begging for a job on bent knee. Mrs Jones, however, being of relatively sound mind and not entirely decimated conscience, offered him a different proposition:

"Sign a contract with us until you're eighteen, and we'll train you. We'll give you lessons in international relations, politics, languages. We'll get you through your A-Levels so you'll have options. You can still have a role here in an auxiliary way, but we'll let you see the Admin and Logistics side of the operations. Maybe you'll even get into Control. I wouldn't be surprised."

He's eighteen now, and listed officially on the bank's payroll, and it feels _so_ good. He tells Joe as much.

"Ha!" Joe laughs. "I'm sure it does. It looks good on you."

Repetition of thoughts or ideas, a sure indicator of nervousness or stress.

"What's up, Joe?"

A heavy sigh.

"Just this Hydra shit. But you're here to stop that, right?"

"Yeah," Alex shrugs. "I guess I am." Or rather, SCORPIA, but honestly nowadays all these terrorist threats tend to blend into one. He rather pointedly does _not_ tell Joe that thought. A few minutes pass as the behemoth rumbles down the freeway at a record-breaking 60.

"Nervous, Joe?"

Joe tsks and pshs and makes an assortment of discontented noises.

"Just this character I'm palming you off on. He makes me nervous, I guess, and I'm still a little protective of you. Seems like just yesterday you were 14 and all beat up."

"Yeah," Alex replies, gaze somewhere far off both physically and emotionally. "Sometimes it feels like that for me, too." Seeing Joe's concerned look, he continues quickly. "But don't worry! I see my therapist twice a week, and there's no way this guy could be any creepier than Blunt was."

"Eugh," Joe cringes at the memory. "What a jerk."

"Tell me about it."

They commiserate a little more to pass the time, but Alex's flight came in at JFK and the headquarters he was to be delivered to were less than twenty minutes away provided the traffic lights were in your favour… and let's face it – if you were in a government vehicle, they were. Always.

It was a big, tall building they pulled up in front of, a monument to chrome and glass. Modern art, some might call it. A target, some others may say. To Alex Rider, it was:

"How incredibly gauche."

"I'll let Mr Stark know."

If Alex was surprised by the sudden interjection, he didn't show it.

"Alex, this is Agent Coulson. Agent Coulson, Agent Rider." More handshaking. The man to whom he was introduced was even drabber than perhaps Blunt himself, his face washed out and grey against the overbearing black of his suit. His smile was thin and transparent. Alex showed the appropriate amount of teeth in return. Social niceties complete.

"Lovely to meet you, Agent," he said, despite it being mediocre at best. "I hear I'm being foisted off into your capable hands."

Coulson nods, and definitely doesn't fidget, which is more that Alex would say he'd be able to do wearing such an ill-fitting suit as his.

"We've relocated, as you may know. There was something of an incident recently."

"I hear you did more than that," Alex says, raising an eyebrow. "I heard you broke apart and integrated yourselves into the rest of the government."

Coulson might look impressed. Maybe. He's not entirely sure, considering Coulson's face doesn't really move all that much, but he's pretty used to reading expressions into the expressionless.

"I'm sure I don't know what you're implying," Coulson replies, smoothly sweeping under the rug that whole nasty near-genocide issue.

"I'm not implying anything," Alex states. "Just nattering on, I suppose. So, this is Stark Tower." It's not a question, but Coulson treats it as such.

"Like I said," he shrugs a little, probably trying to subtly adjust the positioning of his shoulder holster breaking the line of his ill-fitting suit, "We relocated. Mr Stark was kind enough to offer a few of us accommodation and employment in this tower. I personally act as a government liaison to the Avengers… maybe you've heard of them."

"A group of civilian vigilantes, ex-criminal assassins and guns for hire? Yes, I may have heard of them." Coulson opens his mouth to interject. "Don't get me wrong, Agent. I have heard of them, and I think it sounds _wonderful._" Alex turns his smile onto full-beam, and Agent Coulson gets a tad starry eyed at his enthusiasm.

"Well then," Joe interrupts, looking at his watch pointedly, "This is where I leave you. See you Alex. Agent Coulson."

"Mr Byrne."

Joe Byrne climbs once again into the ridiculous car and speeds back off to whatever headquarters or some assignment or maybe even his home. Alex doesn't care right now, though. He came here expecting to do some boring intel recovery for the CIA and it turns out now he's going to be working with the Avengers! The most ridiculous, amazing, ragtag group of misfits and miscreants he could imagine… and he could fit right in there. They could be friends! Okay, no, calm down… colleagues… Yeah. That'd be nice.

Agent Coulson appeared to sense his eagerness, as without further ado he strode towards the towering glass doors of the metal monstrosity.

"Well then, Agent Rider… Shall we?"

* * *

_**Theeeese are a feeeew of my faaavourite thiiiiiiings...**_


End file.
